


Green Eyed Monster

by dcjuris



Series: Being Human [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Wincest - Freeform, established wincest, pre-Wincestiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 23:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcjuris/pseuds/dcjuris
Summary: Sam catches Dean flirting. Cas gives him food for thought. (These works are not in any order at all, other than the way they come to me.)





	Green Eyed Monster

Dean leans against the endcap, people watching while Sam treats cereal shopping like an Earth Shattering Decision. There's a toddler grabbing random things off shelves and adding them to his mom's cart, which she would know if she weren't preoccupied with her phone. So far the kid's got a can of cat food, a box of Brillo pads, and four questionably brown bananas.

"Parents these days, eh?"

He turns to see a woman standing next to him. She's probably in her early forties, and she's got the high bangs, jean skirt with matching jean jacket thing going on that was probably killer in her twenties. To be honest, she's still rocking it. Dean's no ageist, in different circumstances, he'd pick her up.

"You got any of your own?"

"Kids?" Dean scoffs. "Hell no." Not unless a four-month-old-angel-turned-human counts. Although most days, it definitely does.

"Me either. Never saw what all the fuss was about."

He gives her a cocky smile. "Making them is probably what the fuss is about."

"Eh. I gotta twelve inch in my bottom drawer for that."

Well holy shit. Good for her.

"Course, it's no substitute when you want the real thing." She twirls a curl around her index finger and looks him up and down slowly.

"You know what they say, flesh is best." _Flesh is best_? Fuck, he's out of practice.

"Men or women?"

Dean shrugs. "I'm an equal opportunity kinda guy."

"Yeah?" She steps toward him and trails fire engine fingernails down his chest. "I'd like an opportunity to wrap those bow legs around my waist."

"The only waist those bow legs are gonna be wrapped around is _mine_." Sam shoulders in between them, glaring down at Dean. "Let's go."

Dean leans around Sam and gives her a mock-scandalized gasp and a wink. "Rain check."

He nearly trips over his feet trying to keep up with Sam's insistent pull. Outside in the parking lot, Dean wrenches himself free. "Dude! What the hell?"

Sam rounds on him. "Seriously?! What the hell yourself! You were practically drooling over her!"

"Pfft. No I wasn't. Jealous, Sammy?"

"Far be it from Dean Winchester to keep his dick in his pants!" Sam storms off to the car.

The words are like a slap to his face. His mind scrambles to catch up beneath a haze of shock and sharp sting, and then it hits him. Sam thinks he's a slut.

***

 

Sam is still furious when they get back to the Bunker. He heads for the kitchen, barely spares a glance at Dean as his brother slinks off somewhere like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. What would have happened if he hadn't overheard them? How far would Dean have gone? And had he gone that far before?

"Is everything all right?" Cas asks.

He yanks one of the cupboard doors open and snatches down a coffee cup.

"Sam?"

"What?" It comes out as a snarl with a pang of guilt hot on its tail. It's not Cas' fault. "Sorry. What?"

"I asked if everything was all right? You seem…" Cas frowns. "Agitated."

Sam huffs a breath. "Yeah. You could say that."

"Did you and Dean have an argument?"

"No."

"But something did happen between the two of you?"

Sam knows that look—Dean calls it _dog after a bone_. Cas isn't going to let this go. "I caught him flirting with some woman."

"And?" Cas raises an eyebrow.

"And…" Sam flaps his hand in the air. "And nothing. That was enough."

Cas makes a little contemplative noise.

"What?"

"Dean has a predilection toward flirting. I've always assumed it was learned behavior. I don't think he's even aware of it."

Learned behavior? Sam's not sure what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything at all. He abandons the coffee cup and leans back against the counter, waiting for Cas to continue.

"It never seemed to bother you when he used his flirting skills to further your cause on a case."

He scoffs. "That's different."

"Is it?"

Goddamn him. Sam wants to be angry. He really, really wants to hold on to this. But if he's honest, Cas is right. How many times did Dean's panty-dropping smile and charm grease their way? How many times did he encourage Dean, even when Dean didn't seem to want to use his talents?

And it occurs to him... Where did Dean learn to flirt? He always thought of his dad as charismatic. But was it more than that? And of course, there was Dean, trying to live up to their father, to be just like him. Had Sam been so wrapped up in his own struggles that he missed Dean's?

***

 

Dean pulls his headphones off as his door opens a crack.

"Can I come in?" Sam asks.

"Free country." Dean shrugs. He's surprised it's taken this long. Not just today, not just for Sam to confront him, but in general. He's always known it was a matter of time before he fucked up too big—before he did something Sam couldn't look past.

Sam steps inside and stays in the doorway.

"You decide you want a divorce?"

"Cas thinks your flirting is"—Sam makes quote fingers—" _learned behavior_."

"Huh. He's Sigmund Freud now?"

"Is he right?"

"Cas can barely tie his shoes."

"Is. He. Right?"

"Leave it alone, Sam."

"No. No, I'm not going to leave it alone."

Dean doesn't say anything. What can he say?

Sam scrubs his hand over his face. "Jesus Christ."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want the truth."

Dean smirks and channels his best Jack Nicholson impression. "You can't handle the truth."

"Fucking… Are you serious right now?"

Dean spreads his arms wide. "You really wanna hear about all the trucker dick I choked down so we could afford Lucky Charms?"

Sam's face goes white, his eyes wide. "I didn't know," he whispers, his voice breaking.

"You weren't supposed to know."

"How many times?"

"You think I kept track?" He did, actually, in the beginning. But after the first twenty, he didn't see the point. "Where did you think the money came from?"

"Pool hustling and credit card scams!"

"When I was _twelve_?"

"I didn't think about it."

"Well don't think about it now."

"You can't just say that. If anything that makes me think about it _more_!"

Dean sighs. This is pointless. "Look, Sam, it's done, okay? Done and over. Move the fuck on." He stands and stalks toward the door, tries to push past Sam.

Sam snags his arm. "I'm sorry."

Dean stops. "For what?"

"Today. Back then. All of it."

"None of it was your fault."

"I could've—"

Dean wrenches his arm free. "Fuck's sake just stop!" He lands a shove in the middle of Sam's chest. "Just stop. It wasn't on you and it wasn't on me. It was on dad. Period. Dad should've done better, and he didn't."

Sam peers down at him with wet eyes. "I don't want a divorce."

Dean scoffs. "Wouldn't give you one anyway." He knows it's bullshit—knows he'd give Sam anything, including freedom, to make him happy. And he's pretty sure Sam knows that, too.

Sam reaches out again, slowly, like he's not sure Dean will let him. Dean doesn't move away, but he doesn't move forward either, no matter how much he instinctively wants to. It's Sam's risk to take, Sam's mistake to right.

Sam slides his hand up along Dean's arm, over his shoulder, and up to cup his cheek. "Thank you." Sam swallows hard. "I love you."

Dean smiles at him, and it's an easy gesture. "Love you too, you giant over reactive bitch."

It earns him a huffing laugh and a warm spot in his chest, and he'll take it. He'll always take it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also a published author. If you like my writing style, check out my published works on Amazon by searching "DC Juris" - that's me. :-)


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